


gentle hands

by krowlin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, im gay and sad dont @ me, jonmartin, literally just fluff there is no substance here, there was only one bed!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22857031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krowlin/pseuds/krowlin
Summary: Jon and Martin are in the safehouse and they finally can love each other.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 4
Kudos: 197





	gentle hands

**Author's Note:**

> its like 12:30 im tired as shit please take this jonmartin fluff im sorry if there are any mistakes/if its ooc im Trying My Best and im touchstarved and gay so go easy on me :')  
> the eye said its MY turn to self project onto jon so checkmate fuckers  
> goodnight

There's only one bed in the safehouse.

Jon feels a bit stupid for thinking there would be two; Daisy was the only one who actually used the tiny cottage so there was no need for another. Now, though, as he grimaced at the bed, his rolled-up pajamas in hand, a second bed would probably be useful.

It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep next to Martin. Quite the opposite, really, he honestly would like nothing more, and that was the real issue. A ball of anxiety was twisting around in his gut as he went through the possible outcomes of the situation when a big, heavy hand dropped suddenly on his shoulder. He inhaled sharply, tensing and relaxing in quick succession when he heard Martin's drowsy tone.

"Are you gonna go change or just stare at the bed for the next few hours?" He asked, a fond playfulness in his tone to reassure Jon he wasn't making fun of him.

Jon laughed a little. "Yeah. I... I'll go do that."

When he wandered back after staring at himself in the mirror for a few minutes, Martin was already in the bed, eyes shut and breathing steady. He looked impossibly peaceful. Jon slowly slipped into the spot next to him, carefully leaving a few inches of space between the two of them. He laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, unable to shut his mind off. The need for sleep was weighing down on his eyelids, yet he couldn't bring himself to close them. Not when Martin was right next to him, snoring softly, curled up peacefully as if this wasn't as serious as the time the world almost ended.

Just as he was finally slipping into unconcsiousness, he heard his name being mumbled. "...Jon?" Martin whispered, face creasing into concern that didn't quite fit his face. "Jon??"

"Martin, I'm right here," Jon mumbled, worry quickly branching through his nerves like blood in water.

Martin inhaled shakily, hands gripping the sheets. His features looked crumpled, devastated on what was usually a bright, happy face. _He's having a nightmare_ , Jon thought, the ice-cold realization pouring over him instantly. He shook Martin awake, gripping his shoulders protectively.

Martin's eyes shot open. He gasped for breath as if he had just resurfaced from water, tears pooling in his eyes as he stared at Jon, the panicked expression remaining painted on his face.

"I'm here," Jon whispered, wrapping his arms around Martin's neck. "I'm right here."

Martin hugged him back tightly, burying his face in Jon's shoulder and letting out a shuddering sob. "Shit," he mumbled through erratic breaths.

"Breathe. It's... it's okay. I'm here. We're safe." Martin slowly evened his breaths out, relaxing a little in Jon's arms. He still remained in the embrace, though, face burrowed into Jon's now soaked shoulder.

"I got your shirt all wet," he ended up muttering tearfully, scrubbing at his face.

"It'll dry," Jon responded simply, tracing circles onto Martin's back. He paused, floating in the thick silence for a moment longer. "Wanna talk about it?"

Martin sighed sharply, holding on a little tighter. "No. I... I'm sorry."

"Martin," Jon said, "You don't need to apologize. It's okay, you know."

He didn't respond for a few seconds, thinking. "I'm glad you're here," he ended up mumbling.

"I feel the same," Jon whispered back.

\---

Jon knew he always woke up first. He had learned it back when Martin was living in the Archives.

(He could remember peeking through the crack of the door to see him sleeping soundly on the cot, hair ruffled up and his shirt riding up on the side. He didn't try to think about it much for the fear of short-circuiting.)

What he didn't consider, however, was him waking up pressed up against Martin, his face fitting like a puzzle piece in the nape of Martin's neck. It was shocking at first, really. The last time he had held someone--really held someone--was when he was with Georgie. That was years ago by now, shoved away from the forefront of his mind and replaced with the almost overwhelming wave of Martin.

He worms away almost immediately, slipping from the warmth of the shared space and walking downstairs to start on some breakfast. He can feel the regret seeping into every 204 of his bones as he desperately tries to remember how to properly boil eggs. He wanted to stay there with Martin, shut his eyes and drift back off into a comfy sleep, but it was so suffocating.

It takes a few minutes for him to Know how long it takes to boil an egg and he sits and watches them boil intently, trying to focus on the fire and the water and the eggs and nothing else. But the memories of the previous night worm right in, front and center in his thought process. He would be embarrassed if he wasn't suddenly so worried about Martin.

He gets to his feet to go back up, but as soon as he does so he can hear the creaking of the stairs. He relaxes a little when Martin's sleep-kissed features are illuminated by the morning light sifting through the blinds.

"Morning," Martin says, rubbing his eyes. "Are you making something?"

"Eggs," Jon responds, wringing his hands. "And-- and toast, actually," He adds, gesturing towards the toaster. "I... I haven't made the toast yet. But we have bread."

Martin looks at him for a second longer than what would usually be considered normal, but Jon isn't convinced normal actually exists for him anymore so he tries not to think about it. Martin starts on the toast, humming softly to himself.

The safehouse isn't very big. It's cramped, if Jon is being honest, but he can't help feeling so small. It's a feeling he used to, but it still feels... jarring. He curls in on himself a little, exhaling quietly. His mind never stopped racing since he got out of the Lonely, gripping Martin's hand with the intention of never letting go, and it's exhausting to keep up with yet it refuses to slow.

Breakfast is mostly silent. A few small pleasantries are exchanged, but Jon feels heavy and can't deal with truly talking.

"Y'know, I was thinking we could explore the town this morning," Martin says, and there's no force behind his words. It's phrased more of a question. Jon can hear the unspoken _are you okay?_ and doesn't know how to respond.

He settles for a nod. "Sounds good."

Martin's smile beams brighter than the sunrise outside and Jon is already calming down. He returns it with a nervous smile of his own and its flimsy and wobbling at the edges but Martin doesn't seem to mind.

The pair ambles down on a cobble path, pointing out cows and the scenery. At one point, they come across a small field of flowers and sit at a park bench for a little. Martin grabs a handful of blossoms and easily weaves them into a crown, placing it gently on Jon's head. Jon doesn't take it off for the rest of the walk.

The rest of the day is lazy, as it rightfully should be. Jon believed they deserved a break. He believed Martin _really_ deserved a break, and he didn't need the powers of the Eye to know it.

Night comes around again. It's easier this time, Jon thinks, although he's not sure why he's getting used to sleeping near Martin so quickly. That's not really what surprises him, though.

What surprises him is the bravery that overtakes him when the lights go out and he grabs Martin's hand under the covers. Martin makes a small noise akin to the little meow a cat makes when you surprise it. Jon quickly starts regretting his decision, cursing himself silently as he untangles their fingers. It surprises him even more that Martin retakes his hand.

"Is this..." Jon starts slowly, looking for the right word. "...Okay?" He ends up asking, worry obvious in his tone.

"I don't think anything has been more okay for me, Jon," Martin whispers back, slightly bashful.

For once, Jon's mind goes blank. All he does is mumble out a little "Okay," and they fall asleep like that, hands clasped together and Jon has never slept better.

There's only one bed in the safehouse, and Jon gets used to it.

They start to fall into a routine, sickeningly sweet domesticity overtaking any previous anxieties and they work through it all together. Nightmares still pop up, but they don't have to be dealt with alone anymore.

It's only a matter of time before they're on another walk, hands clasped together (as they tend to be these days) when Martin asks if he can kiss Jon. Jon decides that actions speak louder than words and closes the gap between their faces. It's the best thing he's ever felt, he decides, and he wouldn't trade any of it for the whole universe. He knows that bad things are coming. He knows that Jonah Magnus is probably plotting something, he knows that the future is much less than bright, but he's there in Scotland with the person he loves the most and it's enough. Jon thinks he can stand to be happy, if only for a moment, so he does.


End file.
